


Universal Donor

by Pragnificent (PragmaticHominid)



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Domestic Fluff, Hannibal Loves Will, M/M, Will Loves Hannibal, blood transfusion fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-16
Updated: 2017-02-16
Packaged: 2018-09-25 00:05:56
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 981
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9793688
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PragmaticHominid/pseuds/Pragnificent
Summary: To Hannibal, the scent of fresh linen and the sensation of the fabric against his skin are not discrete experiences. They bleed together in the hypovolemic haze of his mind, a calming melody made richer by fragrant notes of drying blood. His own, he thinks, but sleeps on untroubled.Will is close.(AKA "Hannibal gets injured and Will saves him with a blood transfusion directly from his own veins" fluff).





	

To Hannibal, the scent of fresh linen and the sensation of the fabric against his skin are not discrete experiences. They bleed together in the hypovolemic haze of his mind, a calming melody made richer by fragrant notes of drying blood. His own, he thinks, but sleeps on untroubled. 

Will is close.

When he opens his eyes he sees Will’s face hovering above him, round and pale like the moon. 

Hannibal lifts his hand to reach up to touch him, but feels the small pain of a needle shifting beneath his skin. He turns his head, and sees a length of IV tubing running from his arm, dark with blood. 

The line finds its terminus at the underside of Will’s wrist. He is holding his arm suspended above Hannibal. Minute tremors twitch through his muscles, making Hannibal wonder how long Will had been holding that position. 

“O negative,” he reflects, inventorying himself as he speaks. There’s a concentrated spot of white hot pain in his left arm, just below the shoulder, and he recognizes it from experience as the pain that follows in the aftermath of a gunshot wound. “The universal donor.”

“That’s me,” Will says. “Genetically predispositioned to bleed for the sake of everyone else.” There’s a bitterness to that, an implication that is perhaps unconscious but most likely not, that asks,  _ So why am I bleeding for  _ you _ of all people? _

Hannibal has waited years now for that note to fade from Will’s voice. He will go on waiting. Practically, it makes no difference - Will is here and Hannibal does not believe he has any plans to leave. But. 

He closes his eyes now and listens carefully to the tone and pace of his own heartbeat. His blood pressure is much lower than it ought to be, but he does not believe himself to be in active danger. 

“You’ve given enough of yourself, Will. Take the IV out.”

Despite the transfusion, Hannibal’s skin is still very pale, and he finds the contrast of the paleness of his forearm and hand against the maroon of the sheets to be aesthetically pleasing. Once Will has removed the needle and taped a bandage in place, Hannibal rolls his forearm against linen to view it from different angles, flexing and unflexing the fingers. He sees that Will is watching, too. 

“There’s something delightful about having part of you inside me like this. Moving in my veins, mingling with my own blood. It is a new degree of closeness.” Hannibal says. He knows that he can say such things to Will, openly take joy in the thoughts themselves and in voicing them, and they will be understood, if not always readily accepted. “I’m sorry that I will never be able to return the favor.”

“AB negative,” Will says. He rubs at his forearm, trying to knead the tiredness out of it. 

“How did you guess?”

“In what world, Hannibal, might you be found with anything but the most exclusive blood in your veins? Nothing less would suit your aesthetic.” As weary as Will sounds, Hannibal senses that there’s a joke here. A smile tugs on the edges of Will’s mouth, despite himself. 

“Are you teasing me, Will?”

“Only a little. I checked your paperwork.”

Exhaustion hems Will in like a caul. It would be more accurate to say that he “drops” onto the bed than that he “sits.” It makes him look much smaller than he really is. 

Hannibal wonders what it took for Will to get him back to their home safely, and how long he’s been sitting vigil since. He wonders, also, just how much blood Will gave him.

“Do you remember what happened?”

Hannibal thinks. “I failed to notice the gun,” he admits, after a moment. 

“Yep,” Will says flatly. Talking about it now, Hannibal can see the after effects of the terror of the moment circling back in to claw at Will. It is, on some level gratifying - reassuring, certainly - but Hannibal doesn’t want it to get too strong a hold. The dividing line between fear and anger has always been indistinct for Will, and Hannibal can see him sliding toward the latter now. “But how the hell did you manage that? That’s what I want to know.”

Hannibal knows the answer. He’d been drunk on Will and the enthusiasm that he’d brought to the encounter, lost so far underneath Will’s skin that he’d barely been paying any attention to their target. 

“Love makes fools of us all, now and then,” Hannibal says, and sighs. Will closes his eyes, rubs at his temples. “If I didn’t know better, Will, I’d think that you’re annoyed with me.”

That earns him a laugh, tired but genuine, only slightly marred by frustration.   

“What of the man with the inconvenient pistol?”

At the thought Will’s upper lip pulls up in a snarl. “Which piece?”  

A sense of serenity settles over Hannibal. “Do you know,” he wonders out loud, “just how much I adore you?” 

It’s endearing, how shy Will can still be. He won’t meet Hannibal’s eyes, but the smile is soft and honest and it gentles all the lines on his face. He is, Hannibal thinks, all the more beautiful for the curving scar that marks the left side of his face. 

He stands up, sways dizzily on his feet. “Are you hungry? I’ll get you something -”

“I don’t want anything. Just come to bed, Will. You’re exhausted.”

Will looks like he wants to argue but lacks the energy. “Alright,” he says instead. 

A few minutes later he crawls into the bed beside Hannibal, opposite Hannibal’s wounded arm. Will’s asleep almost at once, and in his sleep he turns to his side and presses himself against Hannibal, curling his arms around Hannibal’s good arm and clinging to it as though he fears Hannibal might be stolen away.

Before very long, Hannibal sleeps too.  


End file.
